Who's Your Daddy?
by The Mad Fangirl
Summary: Hierophant installment in the Three-Ian humor-verse. Our heroes and heroines are bedeviled by an unholy bunch of visitors…


Longer Summary: This is the post-Hierophant humor fic. Our heroes and heroines are bedeviled by an unholy bunch of visitors. Methos and Amanda meet someone who looks extremely familiar, as does one of our new guest stars. No KF:TLC yet after all - I had a better idea (very evil grin). I just wish I'd been able to fit in that CSI reference. Dangit. Oh, hey, and for the first time in my fic, cameos from another fanfic universe! If anyone doubts, this story is part of my three-Ian universe, off to the side of continuity, which got into full swing with "While the Cat's Away." Now, is that sulfur in the air?  
  
Title: Who's Your Daddy?  
  
Spoilers: Through the 7-22-02 episode, Hierophant.  
  
Author: The Mad Fangirl  
  
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation. A/N: What else? The Devil made me do it.  
  
* * *  
  
After his quick game of 5002-card pickup with the lovely Ms. Sara Pezzini, a certain devilish visitor to the mansion's study prepared to leave his balcony. As he did, though, he very nearly ran smack into a man and a woman arriving on the scene. The woman had a feathery cap of black hair, and the man was slim, with aquiline features. They both froze. The woman put a hand to her mouth. The man put a hand to his sword.  
  
"Oh...my God...Fitz!" the woman gasped.  
  
He merely smiled. "Not exactly."  
  
"Pop quiz, my dear Amanda," Methos said, slowly, dangerously. "Who looks like your dead friend, but isn't your dead friend, and in fact likes to convince you to kill your live friends, just for kicks?"  
  
Amanda's eyes widened. She backed up several steps. "Ahriman," she whispered.  
  
The curly-haired man roared, his face deforming. "NO! Not Ahriman, dammit! What the Hell? He puts down his daiquiri, shows up once a millennium, and gets all the damned press, pun intended! Everywhere I go, it's Ahriman this, Ashur that! Or occasionally the Sons of Belial, but never Me!"  
  
"What's an Ashur?" asked Amanda.  
  
"Oh, well, there's one bonus. At least the snake-queen hasn't spread her little cult of personality up here yet. Curse God for small favors."  
  
"But you are a demon."  
  
"I'm *the* demon," he growled. "The original. Look upon my works ye mighty, yadda yadda yadda."  
  
"Mm-hm. Right," said Methos. "Sorry, but that just doesn't wash. I know all about how the Celtic horned god evolved into representing Christian evil. I was there, after all."  
  
"You think you're so smart, old man."  
  
"I'm just a guy."  
  
"A really *old* guy," Amanda piped up.  
  
"That, from the woman who remembers years in three digits," Methos sighed. Then, to the evil before him, "Look, can you at least tell us, why take Fitzcairn's face?"  
  
"Believe it or not, coincidence. He's working for the other side now; I met him at a mixer. I just walk around like this to twit him."  
  
Amanda brightened. "Maybe Mac *did* see Fitz then! He said he came to him as an angel."  
  
"Well, I'm leery of getting my confirmations from our unholy friend here, if you don't mind."  
  
The beast shrugged. "Not my problem, either way. I just came here for a quick mind-bang with the lovely Miss Pezzini, so if you both wouldn't mind showing me the way out? I teleported in, but I'm a mite bushed."  
  
"Escort you out? Now *that* I'm happy to do."  
  
* * *  
  
Season One Nottinghams 1 and 2.0 met one another at the mansion gates, returning from their various evening wanderings. They came upon Pez as she was departing and she slowed her bike, removing her helmet.  
  
"Hey guys."  
  
"You look unwell, milady," Ian One observed.  
  
"Long night," she replied. "Fought your dad. Who was my dad. Except he wasn't, because he was your dad, because my dad wouldn't do what my dad did and your dad would, and my dad's dead, only your dad's dead too, which is how my dad could end up being your dad."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
Pez blinked and tried it again. "I spent all night fighting a bizarre homunculus of my father, driven by *your* father." Pez stopped. "Strike that. Reverse it. No, wait." She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, and did I mention he was sponsored by Satan? And that for the whole fight, your brother sat on his butt because Dad told him to stay out of it?"  
  
"Whose dad?"  
  
"Yours. I think. It's complicated. Ask me again when I've had some sleep, willya?" Pez yawned again. "I'm not gonna be safe on the road." She sighed. "That whole fight, your brother sat there like he was watching wrestling. Except once. I looked over and he wasn't there. Then I looked back and I swear he had a tub of popcorn. Or maybe it was chicken wings. Could've been chicken wings."  
  
Then Ian 2.0, homicidal clone extraordinaire, did something that surprised her. He withdrew a tube from his pocket and tossed it in her direction. She caught it and scanned the label.  
  
"No-Doz. Thanks!" Then, "Y'know, this explains a lot."  
  
"It's Harley's" he replied.  
  
"Like I said." Pez bit a pill in half and swallowed it. "Whoo. Okay, think I can make it home now."  
  
"Are you certain, milady?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so."  
  
"Maybe you should try explaining last night one more time, just to be sure," said Ian 2.0, with his ever-present smile.  
  
"No offense, but I think if I did that, my head would explode."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
She stared at him. "You really are sadistic, you know that?"  
  
"And this is news?"  
  
Pez just snorted. "Go home, boys. I'll do likewise." She put her helmet on and roared through the gates.  
  
The two Nottinghams proceeded into the mansion proper, and then froze a few steps in. "There's someone here," said Ian One, lifting a strand of straight, sandy hair.  
  
"Yes," replied his brother, staring at the half-imprint of a shoe in the hall carpeting. "Someone new. Time to play." His sharp smile widened in anticipation. When he moved forward, he moved silently; he was hunting now.  
  
Ian the First watched him go. "Children," he said, shaking his head, then proceeded to follow.  
  
* * *  
  
The mansion's back stairs and hallways were positively labyrinthine. The demonic blonde man looked soulfully to Methos. "Are we there yet?"  
  
"Not quite, my little Smurfs," the ancient one replied, pushing open yet another door. As they reached the end of the following corridor, they began to make out a conversation, or more properly, half of a conversation.  
  
"Well, Father, you did it to me again."  
  
"..."  
  
"'She's proud,' you said. 'Let her fight her own battles,' you said."  
  
"..."  
  
"'She'll thank you,' you said. I didn't notice her thanking me. Did you notice her thanking me?'"  
  
"..."  
  
"Yes, I know the chicken wings were my idea. I have an accelerated metabolism. That's your fault too, by the way." Then the current season's Nottingham looked around and over the back of his chair. "Hello Methos, Amanda." Then, to the blonde fiend, "Oh, it's you."  
  
The creature's brows drew together. "This is the room I was just looking at! I could have jumped over the balcony and saved ten minutes."  
  
Methos just shrugged. "I didn't design this place. Talk to the hand."  
  
"You're gonna have to make that call long-distance," came a voice from a convenient alcove, and out stepped someone new indeed. He was tall, somewhere near the Ians' height, but rangy, and wearing a faded trench coat. His hair was sand-colored, short and spiky. He held a gun in either hand, and looked the demonic blonde in the eye. At the same time, the Season One versions caught up, having tracked the intruder to the study. They glanced to their more current brother, who shrugged, so they merely leaned against either side of the doorway.  
  
"Guns?" The blonde snorted. "Against the Devil?"  
  
"You're not the Devil."  
  
"How do you know? I could be the Devil. I've got red glowy eyes." His eyes burned like coals for emphasis.  
  
"Yeah, but you're not the Devil. He is." The man kept his eye and one gun on the fiend and gestured with the other. Every Nottingham started, and both Immortals jumped, for where most assuredly no one had been before, there now stood a man in a tailored suit and fedora. His hair was thin, long, black, and straight, and his face was gaunt and pockmarked, but not unhandsome.  
  
"Hello," he said, addressing the blonde. His voice was low, but not the other demon's gravelly rasp. It was whiskey and honey, mixed with just a touch of smoke. "Been awhile." He tipped his hat and smirked.  
  
"You! Then this must be..." and he began to back away from the sandy-haired man.  
  
"Zeke Stone, demon-hunting-demon, at your service." He nodded in introduction. "Time to go home."  
  
"How?" Ian 3 asked. "The wielder of the Witchblade could not destroy him, and she faced him twice!"  
  
"There's a trick to it," Zeke said. "Kinda like Chinese finger puzzles." He raised both guns to eye level. He pulled both triggers.and nothing happened.  
  
Nottingham looked at Nottingham, who looked at Nottingham, who looked at Amanda, who looked at Methos. Methos shrugged.  
  
"Oh, *boss?*" called Zeke. "You wouldn't be keeping my bullets back, would you?"  
  
"Would I do something like that, Ezekiel?" the Devil, for such he was, asked.  
  
"Hell, yeah."  
  
"Heh. Guilty. You know I so rarely show up for your coup de grace, as it were. I just wanted a word with Blondie here." He turned to the curly- haired demon. "You know, for all that you like to go around impersonating me, I would have been content to leave you 'till Zeke was nearly done catching his damned souls. But you did one thing that was unforgivable."  
  
"And what was that, pray tell?"  
  
The Devil just shook his head sadly. "You were a horrible looking woman. When I do drag, I'm much, much better looking. You couldn't be fabulous if you tried, and it's obvious you didn't. Style. It's all about style." He looked to his servant. "All right, Ezekiel, your guns should work now."  
  
The demon's nonchalance finally evaporated, and he lunged for Zeke with arms outstretched. Ezekiel fired once with each gun, piercing the creature's eyes, and it roared as energy poured out, Hell staking its claim to the remains.  
  
"Interesting job you have there," Amanda remarked.  
  
"It's a living. Sort of." Zeke holstered his weapons and walked unhurried towards the exit. At the door, he met Danny Woo entering, and stared. Danny stared back, blankly.  
  
"Um, hi?"  
  
"Sorry," Zeke said. "You just looked familiar." He took a few steps more, then looked back at his employer.  
  
The Devil lingered a bit. First, he turned to Methos. "Well, old man, thanks for delaying him a bit. Zeke tries his best, but aid *is* appreciated."  
  
"When it's convenient for you," Zeke remarked from the hall.  
  
"Of course," the Devil agreed.  
  
Methos just smiled. "You owe me one." Amanda stared.  
  
"Hey, Pez here?" Danny asked no one in particular.  
  
"She just left," Ian One replied.  
  
"Okay." He looked at the gaunt stranger. "Who's that?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"Right. I'll just be going then." When someone in this house said that, you tended to believe it, so Danny got while the getting was good, albeit with sidelong glances at all and sundry. The Devil turned to leave as well, but then looked back at Ian 3.0 and the hand in the glass vase.  
  
"Oh, Nottingham? Be sure to let your father know that he can't hide from me forever. I commend his resourcefulness, but nobody beats me. Nobody. I'll be keeping a spot warm for him." Then he did exit, vanishing between one step and the next.  
  
All that lingered in his wake were the faint strains of violins, and the slightest hint of brimstone.  
  
* * *  
  
~~~~~MEANWHILE, IN THE NETHERWORLD~~~~~Y'KNOW, WHERE THE GHOSTBUSTERS WERE HEADED LAST EPISODE~~~~~WORK WITH ME HERE, PEOPLE~~~~~  
  
In the surreal, barren, ever-shifting landscape, four men in jumpsuits stalked cautiously, quietly, weapons and instruments out.  
  
"While our original portal *should* remain open."  
  
"Should!?"  
  
".We should also be scanning for other ways back to our reality," finished the blonde Ghostbuster Egon Spengler. "I'm not certain how much time we'll have once we've dealt with this threat."  
  
"Bolt hole," replied Peter Venkman. "Got it."  
  
"This *might* be one," came Ray Stantz, but his voice was uncertain. "The valences seem a little off."  
  
"They should be exact, Ray," said Egon.  
  
"I know.I know."  
  
"So, home or not?" asked Winston Zeddemore.  
  
"What the heck," Peter said. "Open it, Ray. I'll poke my head out and take a look."  
  
Ray pointed a small device at a shiny area of Netherworld space, and a small vortex opened. Peter poked his head through, and the others slowly followed suit. Peter snorted.  
  
"Oh, that's funny. I think we're on top of the New York Public Library."  
  
"But is it our library?"  
  
"I don't think so," Winston said.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well, last I looked, our New York didn't have those." Winston pointed. Bearing down on the portal were two immense reptilian creatures. The dragons were gigantic, and black as the night. They were beautiful, in the same way as the grille of an oncoming Jaguar might be beautiful if you were standing in traffic...  
  
"Aaaagh!!! Ray, close it! Close it!" Peter and the rest of the Ghostbusters dove for cover, and Ray's device sewed the portal closed.  
  
* * *  
  
Outside in the other New York, the dragons alighted on the library roof. One looked at the vanished portal, and then at her companion.  
  
::'Oo put a bug up 'is butt?::  
  
The other just executed a sinuous shrug.  
  
* * *  
  
END  
  
TMF  
  
* * *  
  
Many thanks to Selenay Falcon for the loan. ;)  
  
FYI: Rejected titles for this fic included:  
  
"5002-Card Pick-Up" and "How Can I Miss You if You Don't Go Away?" 


End file.
